


You're burning, He's breathing

by ILoveMisha2



Series: The end [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5x04, Dean - Freeform, Endverse, Supernatural - Freeform, The End, castiel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 06:59:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3519737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ILoveMisha2/pseuds/ILoveMisha2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You remember you once wished that you could’ve been his oxygen, that you could make that look of calm wash over him. You don’t think you feel that anymore.<br/>DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters, just the story i put them in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're burning, He's breathing

He was laying on the carpet when you found him in his cabin. You stood by the door frame and watched him. He was laying on his side, back to you.  
You watched his breathing, the steady movement it pulled his body through.  
You remember you once wished that you could’ve been his oxygen, that you could make that look of calm wash over him.  
You don’t think you feel that anymore.  
You idly wonder what you do feel for him and you know it would be so much easier to tell if he would just allow you a touch.  
He never does.  
He gives and takes from the other camp members but never you.  
Never you.  
You watch him breathe and you want to walk away, give him his peace that he’s asked from you time and time again.  
He always asks you to leave but you never do. You wonder why he hasn’t completely left you yet.  
You look past him to his dresser and you can faintly make out his pipe, cigarette tin, and whiskey bottle.  
Your eyes fall back to him, like they always do, as he stirs in his sleep, or self-induced coma. You’re not really sure.  
His eyes open, meeting yours and now you really wish you had walked away, disappeared like his steady breathing.  
His eyes are full of accusation and annoyance.  
You correct yourself and amend that it’s not really those things at all. You could’ve sworn it was hate but you know it’s only a dull version of that now.  
“What do you want?” he whispers.  
His tone doesn’t hold anger or fire, just patience. Like he’s asking a child who doesn’t fully understand for the thousandth time.  
You hate that, but at least he doesn’t sound angry like you usually do.  
You can’t find anything to say, not sure what will make things better, if anything you say now ever could. So you walk in and sit next to him, breathing everything about him in.  
You wish he’d breathe you in.  
You wish he’d want to know if there’s anything left between you, or that he’d at least pretend there was so you could see for yourself.  
“What do you want?”  
The question comes in the same tone as he sits up, looking like a part of himself has been swallowed by the moon. You’ve been burned by the sun and you’ve been dying for him to cool you down with his steady breathing and careful eyes.  
His hands lift from his lap like they’re raising your soul, and rest on his neck for a moment just to run through his hair and fall back into his lap once more.  
You keep forgetting he’s not an angel anymore and all he holds is his beautiful breath. Breath you’d kill for a taste of.  
You look down and away as his question is asked a third time in the same tone again as his hand rests between your shoulder blades. You wonder what you look like that possessed him to touch you because he rarely does anymore. You wonder what part of you made him break his rule. You’ve just guessed that it was his rule, he never once really claimed it was.  
He rubs your back soothingly, somehow you think you can feel his grace in that touch, hoping he’ll pretend to feel it too.  
“I love you”  
You say it even though it feels out of place and rolls off your tongue awkwardly. He looks at you like he’s deciding exactly what to say.  
You don’t know why you said that or why you feel like you meant it. You don’t know what those words will cause, if they cause anything at all.  
You’d hate it if they stopped his steady breathing. You’ve already done that too many times now.  
“You don’t mean that.” He says simply.  
“I do” You say back as convincingly as you can.  
He stands up, leaving you to burn as he takes a pull from the whiskey bottle and lights a cigarette. He turns to face you, leaning against his dresser, face emotionless with a hint of pity or regret. You’re not sure.  
“No you don’t, Dean”  
“I do.”  
He laughs out loud, a startlingly broken sound that you never want to hear again. He blows out the smoke that evens out his breathing even more and you smile faintly.  
“I don’t want you to.” Castiel says.  
He says it so finally that you forget that you were burning and he was breathing.  
He says it like he wants it to set you free.  
But you know for certain that you’ll never in fact be free.


End file.
